Pronunciation Frustration
by I'm Wasting My Time
Summary: Alfred says things the American way, whilst Arthur pronounces his words the way any British gentleman would. Warning: Foul language. Kind of.


I'll be frank, I'm not entirely sure what they're talking about. I don't necessarily care, either. All I know is that Alfred has an awful pronunciation. Ah-loo-min-um? What the fuck is that?

"Aluminium." I correct him. Please bare in mind that I'm saying it the correct way, and not in the way he said it. Ah-loo-min-ee-um. The way it's written, and so the way it's pronounced.

"Dude," Alfred stares at me with a raised eyebrow and a cocky tone soaks his tongue, "It's aluminum." This bastard, am I right? Of course I'm right.

"Aluminium." I sigh, rolling my eyes. "Do tell me, Alfred, what else can't you say?"

"It's aluminum, Artie," Alfred grins at me, "You're the one who can't say it right." I shudder at his words.

"My, my, you can't even say my name," I scowl, "Don't call me 'Artie'. It's disgusting."

"Artie~" Alfred sings, before stopping dead in his tracks and glancing around. We're all broken up into little groups. Though it seems more like couples, now that I look around. Alfred had been talking to Kiku before I correct him, and then Kiku left to join Ludwig and Feliciano. The frog seems to be talking to thin air, like the lunatic he is, and Spain is talking to Romano or Lovino or whatever the fuck that kid is called. Moreover, it seems as if Antonio's more talking at him rather than to him. That brat sure is rude. If I had raised him, I'm sure he wouldn't be such a wanker. Then again, I don't want to have anything to do with that guy. He's just a twat. On the other hand, though, I wouldn't really listen to Antonio. He's not the brightest person to talk to. Then again, I suppose we've had a rather rocky history.

As I try to imagine raising the brat, I notice Alfred abandon my side to run to the Spanish tit and his Italian lover. I say lover, but I don't really know what they are. Again, though, I don't care. "Yo Antonio!" Alfred's voice is so loud, it's impossible to not hear him, "I see you've brought your guitar! Can I borrow it for just a sec!" Antonio must have agreed because Alfred returns to me, guitar in his hands. Or maybe Alfred took the guitar anyway. The rude arsehole.

"Just what on earth do you plan do with that?" I kind of getting the feeling I know what he's going to do.

"You must be real stupid, Artie!" Alfred grins that shit eating grin of his, "I'm gonna sing you a song!"

"Are you sure?" I jeer, resting my chin in the palm of my hand and avoiding eye contact with the insufferable swine, "I'm sure everyone here will believe it's you confessing your undying love for me through a song."

"Maybe I'll become the country of passion, then."

"Like fuck you will." I'm sure if Antonio had heard what Alfred said, he'd say something along those lines. "No one would ever want to be proposed to with a bag of burger king and a cheap pick up line."

"I wouldn't propose that way!" Alfred pouts, positioning the guitar, "I'd propose with twenty chicken mcnuggets and a serenade."

"How classy." Honestly, why do I even bother talking to this twit? He's no better than the frog. I should really reconsider as to who I should hang out with.

"Anyway!" Alfred coughs, his irritating smile back on his face, "Your song!" The song. Which went a little something like this, in a very familiar tune:

_Artie, Artie,  
><em>_You smell like a fart-y.  
><em>_You think you're a smarty;  
><em>_You don't know how to party.  
><em>_I am your hero!_

The last line was followed by mumbling and then a shout of "zero!", in order to make it rhyme.

"Was that..." I frowned, trying to match up the tune, "Was that not a tune from one of the songs from Friends? That Christmas one or something?"

Alfred smiles sheepishly before nodding. What an idiot, as if I wouldn't recognise it. What does he take me for?

The American twat hands the guitar back to Antonio, who gives Alfred a look a father would after having watched his son's worst basketball game. Sheesh, Antonio, control your disappointment.

"Anyway, how did this go from you not being able to pronounce things correctly to you serenading me in public?" I inquire, and Alfred shrugs.

"Hey, you're pretty open with your affections for me, bro. I figured I'd return the gesture. Don't get the wrong idea, though." Alfred winks at me, and I feel utter disgust fill my entire body.

"Wanker!" I snap at him, clenching my fists. Before I can continue, I'm interrupted by the very bastard.

"Oh, Arthur, I've been around you long enough to decode you," Alfred wriggles his eyebrows, "I know exactly what you mean when you say such mean words!" I wait as Alfred composes himself. He adjusts his glasses then presses his fingers to his temple, as if deep in thought. "You..." his voice is hushed and his eyes flicker open to look at me, "are a tsundere."

I'm not angry. Believe me when I tell you, I did not at all flip my shit and storm out of the room. No. I caged the anger that Alfred created and glanced, ever so slowly, to Kiku, who merely shrugged as beads of sweat began to bud. His expression clearly read "I have no idea who he learnt that off but it sure as fuck wasn't me", although perhaps without the swear.

"Ho, ho?" Alfred laughs, now acting like the antagonist in an anime who is mocking the temporarily losing protagonist, "You don't know what that means? How lame!"

"I know what it means," I sigh, tugging a memo pad from my pocket. "It appears that you are..." I flip through the pages of the pad, places my own fingers against my own temple, and whisper, "...a wanker."

You know what the weirdest part of this conversation is? I'm actually in love with this guy, even if I'm not really showing it. Anyway, I'm going to go find out what 'tsundere' means.


End file.
